The Noir Mystery MEGAPACK ™: 25 Modern and Classic Mysteries
Page 31
“Nuts,” said Curver.
Lagos moved closer. “You’ll come to El Centro, Curver.”
Curver shrugged.
Lagos said disapprovingly to Rake: “Maybe better if you went back to your hotel and stayed there.”
“Okay, boy. See you later.” Rake started away, turned back, spoke to Curver. “You don’t use this house at all, eh?”
“No,” said Curver. “Moved everything to El Centro when my wife took sick.”
Rake nodded and strode away to the car. He said: “Slummer, the coppers want me back in town. Get going. I want to come back here after they leave.”
They roared down the highway. Then Slummer swerved off into the desert and stopped in a depression. He switched off the lights.
“They won’t see us here,” Slummer said. “It’s a hell of a country, but not bad to hide in. They’re after Curver, huh?”
“They got him.”
“Curver’s a good guy,” argued Slummer. “But somebody bumped Warnbecker.”
“Right, my boy. Well, I reached El Centro just a few hours ago. Since then I’ve met several people—you, Warnbecker, young Steve Ongar, Pete Torlan, Hop Ling, Bill Fench, and now Curver.”
“You mean one of that bunch bumped Warnbecker?”
“Maybe so.”
Slummer said moodily: “Maybe I done it. I’m kinda absent-minded and you never can tell—”
“What do you think of this, boy?” Alan Rake again popped out the square of black silk cloth.
Slummer stared at the cloth. “Looks like a Chinese stickup man’s hide-rag. Something to cover the face.”
Rake chuckled. “It looks like it. But is it?”
“I wouldn’t know. And then again, maybe it could be used to shine your shoes, or put around your neck on a cold night, or you could wrap your lunch in it.”
“You may be coming close,” Rake said. He put the cloth away again. “The coppers should be gone from the Curver place. Take a different road in, if you can.”
CHAPTER IV
THE DUST CLUE
Slummer parked in an almost grassless field. The sky, star-crowded but moonless, made little light for Alan Rake as he plodded toward Curver’s small house. The officers had gone with Curver. The door was not locked and Rake went in. The rays of his flashlight stabbed at thick coats of desert dust clinging to walls and ledges.
Rake went to the shelf on which Curver had searched for his rifle. The shelf was high, close to the ceiling. Curver had left the box below it and Rake stood on it. The shelf was as dust-laden as everything else. Obviously, the dust had been disturbed where the rifle had been removed.
Another depression in the dust interested Rake. It might have been made by an arm. The smaller smudges just beyond could have been made by fingers. But the impression was quite small, not half the size of Rake’s arm.
Rake got off the box and wandered into another room. This had been the kitchen. The plumbing in the walls was exposed. Rake sprayed the floor with his flashlight. Plenty of dust. The dust here, however, had been stirred and streaked about. The streaking had been done some time before, perhaps two to four days, Rake thought. Done by someone milling about. Anxiously, perhaps.
An outside door opened on the rear of the house. Rake quietly opened it, peered out. Some distance beyond was a rough building. Rake judged it to be a cookhouse.
Alan Rake stepped out. He walked slowly toward the cookhouse. Apparently he was unobserved. He made leisurely sweeps of light over the ground with his flash. And he trod deliberately, as if testing the soil. Presently he stopped.
The ground here was slightly yielding. Rake bent and scrutinized it closely. Prodded it with his finger. Then he went on a little further. Without the flashlight he would have stumbled into an open trench. The trench was about four feet deep and five feet long. The bottom was littered with refuse from the cookhouse. Just a garbage pit.
From where he stood, Rake could look through the grayish gauze that made most of the side of the cookhouse. A man was inside, pottering about—no doubt a cook. Rake strode to the cookhouse and went in. Anyone watching from outside could have seen Rake’s barrel-like silhouette, could have observed him talking, the cook answering, could have seen Rake’s hand meeting the cook’s—as if he were handing him money.
Then Rake came out, crossed rapidly to the car.
He said to Slummer: “Back to Warnbecker’s shipping shed, boy. Fast.”
Slummer said: “So you found something, huh?”
“Evidence enough on Curver’s place to hang someone.”
Slummer wagged his head and said: “I kinda liked Curver. He’s had a dirty deal.”
“Like him myself,” Rake said. “Forgot to tell you that I met a lady in Mexicali.”
“There ain’t no ladies in Mexicali,” said Slummer.
Alan Rake smiled. “Anyhow, I like ‘em,” he said comfortably. “They might put me on the spot, but that’s okay. This one looked swell.” He made a detailed description of her while Slummer listened intently, and added: “You know her?”
Slummer said: “I know ‘em all. I couldn’t miss on that one. Her name’s Edna.”
“Edna what?”
“Just Edna. She showed up in these parts three seasons ago. Just taking care of herself in a general way.”
“Did she know any man around?” Rake asked.
“Well, at first she hitched to young Steve Ongar!”
Alan Rake said: “Ah!”
“I guess Edna kinda liked Steve’s looks. But he didn’t have much dough, so the next season she was off him and had another pal.”
“Who?”
“Fench, the truck driver. Fench could always get his hands on extra dough. So it was Fench.”
“So now Fench—”
“Not now,” Slummer cut in. “Anyhow, it don’t look that way. Looks like she graduated. She chums with Pete Torlan now!”
Rake said: “Ah! And now I suppose Pete Torlan is the big boss since Warnbecker’s out. Even little Edna would have a motive for drilling Warnbecker!”
“By gum, that’s right!”
Rake grinned. “I gather that Edna is even more ambitious.”
“You gather right. She’s been playing around with Torlan, but she’s been seen around with old Warnbecker himself a few times!”
“What a gal! And Warnbecker’s a family man!”
“Sure. Wife and about seven kids. The family never come down here, though. They live up around Beverly Hills, I think.”
“So maybe the wife had something to do with it!”
Slummer groaned. “You do the figuring. All I know is what I see and hear. The dame has been pals with Ongar and Fench and Torlan and even Warnbecker. Make what you can of it.”
He stopped the car against the Warnbecker shipping shed. It was well after midnight and there wasn’t much activity. A few truckers were stretched out on the platform, resting. Rake glanced around. The young checker, Steve Ongar, wasn’t in sight. The big man of the outfit, Pete Torlan, was sitting on the edge of the platform, alone.
Rake spoke to Slummer in an undertone. “I’m going to talk to Torlan. Then I’m going into the office to use the phone. While I’m in the office, you keep Torlan busy.”
He walked over to Torlan. Smirking, Torlan said: “Still prodding around, Mr. Rake?”
“Thought I’d like to talk to Steve Ongar again.”
“Steve? Oh, he’s gone. Got in his old Ford and drove away!”
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know. I came out of the office awhile ago and Steve called to me. He said he was very anxious to get away for a few hours. So I told him I’d handle it myself and he could run along.” Torlan smirked again. “Maybe the boy was spoofing me. Probably ju
st wanted to run down to Mexicali for a few drinks. But he’s a good lad, so I don’t mind.”
“Nice of you,” murmured Rake. “No idea where he went?”
“None.”
Rake merely nodded and started toward the office. As he did so, Slummer got out of the car and engaged Torlan in conversation. Torlan seemed pleasant enough to Slummer, but kept a vigilant eye on Rake. He watched through the distant office window. He could see Rake ask an office worker for permission to use a phone in the corner of the office, out of earshot of the men remaining at their desks. He could see Rake holding the instrument against his chest, talking, talking, talking.
He could see Rake hang up, call another number, talk again.
But Slummer was doing well, too. He was talking to Torlan, and Torlan could do nothing but sit and listen to Slummer—and watch Rake through the office window.
Then Rake was through talking and he came out and made quick strides back to the shipping shed.
Cunning gleamed in Torlan’s sharp eyes. He said: “You got your party, Mr. Rake?”
“I always get my party, Mr. Torlan.”
“Seemed to me you called long distance, Mr. Rake.”
“Mexicali is long distance, Mr. Torlan.”
Rake grinned affably. “I was talking to a Chinaman.”
Torlan said: “Chinamen don’t talk.”
Alan Rake lighted a cigarette. There was an evil cheerfulness in his eye. “Some Chinamen don’t talk,” he corrected.
Slummer seemed to understand that Alan Rake was in a hurry, and he made a dash for the car. He had the engine running as Rake eased in beside him and said: “Calexico. Make it fast, my boy.” The car was ramming through the dust of the road like a fast ship nosing through a stormy sea. Rake went on: “Calexico. The lady Edna has a secret place there. A small house with green shutters. A little west of town. So they tell me.”
“So who tells you?”
“My friend Hop Ling.”
“Didn’t know he was your friend. Didn’t know he’d talk.”
Alan Rake said: “I figured there might be just one thing that would make Ling talk. I had to make sure of something first. I did—and he did.”
“Something about that black cloth, huh?”
“In a way, yes.”
Slummer, his face set in gloomy impassivity, waited for Rake to talk about it. But Rake added nothing. So presently Slummer said: “Edna’s got a place in. Calexico, huh? I didn’t know that. You want to talk to her?”
“I want to talk to Steve Ongar. He’s gone from his post. I don’t need Lydia Lovelorn to tell me what could pull him away from his job. He probably thinks maybe the lady wants him back.”
“Didn’t you make two phone calls?”
“Sure. I called Hop Ling. Also the coppers at El Centro.”
On the outskirts of Calexico, Slummer turned west and circled outlying blocks, looking for a house with green shutters.
“That looks like it just ahead,” he said presently.
“Right. Go beyond and park out of sight.” Houses were rare in this section. Not far beyond the house, on the other side of the road was a neglected barn. Slummer drove into it.
Rake said: “It’s lucky young lads still insist on primping when they go see a lady. Steve’s old Ford isn’t around yet. The lad stopped to make himself pretty for Edna.”
“But he won’t be long.”
“Not long. You stay close here, boy. Don’t do anything unless you see Torlan. If you see Torlan, watch him.”
Alan Rake moved away in the direction of the house. He kept in the shadows, out of sight of wary eyes, and scouted around for two or three minutes. The green shutters covered the front windows. At the back, the window blind was drawn full down. Some forty feet behind the house, in a direct line, was a car shelter, open at both ends. Rake could see the nose of a car—not an old Ford—in the darkness of the shelter.
At the front door, Rake found no bell. He tapped on the glass. The door swished open. Edna was smiling at him.
The smile died and she looked distressed and uncertain. Rake pushed in and noiselessly closed the door. Edna gasped. Rake took her arm and led her into a room off the tiny hall. The room was dark. But beyond was an open doorway into a lighted kitchen, at the rear of the house. Edna, it appeared, was alone in the house.
Edna protested: “You have no right to break in on me.”
“Thought you liked me,” Rake jibed her gently.
“But what do you want?”
Rake sat down and motioned to the girl to do the same. “I’ll just sit here with you, sugar.”
Her face clouded angrily. She was standing in a crouch, as if ready to spring at him. “You get out!”
“That’s no way to talk to me, sugar. You know I like you.”
Edna screwed up her lips savagely. The lips gradually straightened out, then twisted up at the end until they became a smile. Her voice softened.
“You could be right, at that. And you know I like you. It didn’t take me any time at all to fall for you.”
She started toward him. Rake grinned pleasantly and moved his hand. There was a gun in it. He waved the gun and said: “Stay on your side, sugar. And keep your voice down. I won’t be so easy this time.”
CHAPTER V
LADY DOUBLE-CROSS
It was ten minutes before someone tapped on the front door. Edna sprang to her feet. Rake was up fast, too, and by her side. They went out to the hall where the girl hesitated. Rake nudged her with the gun. He stood behind her as she opened the door. In the faint starlight, young Steve Ongar’s face beamed. He was shaved and spruced up, and he was inside before he saw Rake.
“This guy just barged in, darling,” Edna gasped.
Steve flushed. “What’s the idea?” he demanded angrily. “You got no right—”
“Save it, boy,” Rake said. “Just waltz on in.”
Steve saw Rake’s gun and they went back to the living room. Rake had them both sit on one side of the room while he sat on the other, facing them.
Steve blurted: “I don’t like this. What’s your game?”
“Just resting.”
It was still dark in the room, with no more light than edged through the doorway from the kitchen. They sat silent for several minutes. The girl, especially, was getting uneasy.
Presently Edna snapped: “Get me a drink, Steve. I can’t stand this. I want a—”
“Sure,” said Steve. “Where?”
“In the kitchen, of course. There’s stuff in the ice box. Get one for Mr. Rake, too.”
“I wouldn’t go in there, Steve,” Rake said.
“Why the devil shouldn’t I?” Steve raged.
He lunged toward the kitchen. He was going fast and was halfway across the kitchen before Rake, behind him, could catch up. Rake stuck out an arm, grabbed Steve by the pants and yanked.
Steve pitched back and down.
At the same moment a rifle cracked out back. The blind fluttered and there was a hole in it. Plaster in the inside wall showered down. Edna started to scream, but Rake stepped back and clapped a hand over her mouth, pinioned her arms.
Steve started to get up and Rake said sharply to him: “Crawl over this way. Don’t show your shadow on that blind.” He watched while Steve obeyed, and as soon as the young man stood by him he went on: “You didn’t believe sugar would put you on the spot, did you? You thought maybe she wasn’t too good, but she would never do a thing like that. You know now, eh?”
It was obvious that Steve knew now. He wasn’t scared. He was mad, disgusted. He didn’t say anything.
Rake fastened a handkerchief over the girl’s face. He said: “The lad that fired is out back. Chances are he won’t come in unless the girl signals him. I’m going
after him. Keep a grip on fair Edna.”
Steve said grimly: “Sure.” He grabbed the girl’s arms.
Rake slipped out of the front door. He sped away from the house, cut across the lot, came out behind the car shelter. Toward the front of the shelter was the outline of a man. The man had a rifle in his hand. He was watching the house, intently.
Swiftly, Rake moved along the side of the car. The man turned abruptly, but Rake was on him. The skulker was bringing the rifle around. With his left, Rake cracked down on the man’s right wrist and the rifle dropped limp into the dust.
The man groaned and tried to sit up. Rake reached down, took him by the shirt and hauled him to his feet. He left the rifle where it had fallen. He jolted his automatic in the man’s back and walked him to the back door, told him to get in. The man opened the door. They walked into the kitchen.
Rake said: “Here’s the lad that killed Warnbecker.”
Steve Ongar’s throat rattled a little as he said: “Fench!”
Rake said: “Couldn’t be anyone else. Warnbecker didn’t get plugged until just as he was about to tell me his story. That could mean only that the guy who plugged him had been away and couldn’t get to him any sooner. Everybody else in the case had been right around him all the time.
“Fench had been down at a ranch below the line for a couple of days and had just got back. Someone knew that Warnbecker was contacting me and told Edna. Edna met Fench as he was going through Mexicali and told him. Fench and Edna drove on through, stopped at Curver’s ranch, hooked Curver’s rifle, drove on to El Centro and plugged Warnbecker.”
“Edna went with him?”
“Sure. She helped, too. He couldn’t have reached the rifle on the shelf in Curver’s house. So he lifted her up and she got it. She left the marks of her arm and fingers in the dust.”
“But why?” said Steve. “Why?”
Rake said: “I think you already know a little, boy.”